


Garden of the Void

by hightechzombie



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1447699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hightechzombie/pseuds/hightechzombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mansion in the swamp. New masters with a muddy past. A young maid with a deformed foot.</p><p>The young girl dreams of a tree growing in the Void. It speaks to her and ask for a single favour in return for unimaginable powers:</p><p>To draw the beautiful spirit tree which calls itself Delilah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"How horrid this place is."

"I know, my dear. But the way things are now, we should be glad we have at least this place."

"And now you will tell me "Let us try to make the best of situation". Console me if you must, but do not repeat such meaningless trite in front of me."

A man chuckled and glass softly clinked.

"For that I love you. If you will not accept my trite and bullshit, will you at least accept an offer of a glass of wine?"

"Don't get cute, dear husband.“

"Oh, you have the monopoly on that.“

A comfortable silence settled in.

"This house is not beyond salvaging, you know. The wooden floors were refurbished recently and the marble entry hall looks nothing but impressive.“

"For a country house passable. For a woman of my standing and taste — it's beyond salvaging. Built in a stinking swamp, of all places.“

"Beautiful flowers.“

"Flowers with the smell of rot on them.“

"You are enjoying this, are you not?“

"Bertrand.“

Silence once again.

"At the very least, before you pass your final judgement, let us do full inventory. The old man Forningwood had all paintings, statues and plenty of furniture moved to the attic. Crazy bastard has paranoia of the worst sort and thought the statues were staring at him.“

"A haunted house where a madman used to live. Lovely.“

"I knew you would appreciate.“

There was a soft thud, like a thrown pillow.

"Before my dear wife decides to throw me out of the window and bury in a shallow grave, she should know...“

Another thud.

"Should know that there is quite likely one of Sokolov's among the paintings and I am the only person in possession of a key for the attic.“

There was a pause.

"A Sokolov's? Are you sure?“

"Not seen it myself, I'm afraid. But the rumours were quite persistent... and Forningwood was always full of surprises.“

A woman laughed.

"I should choke you, Bertrand, for telling me that at an hour this late!“

"Then my ruse succeeded. I did not wish you to go into the dirty attic after such tiresome and long journey. Battling dust is not how you should remember your first day.“

"Perhaps I should battle you instead.“

" _That_ can be arranged. Will you take the lead or...“

"Don't talk.“

"Just don't tear off the shirt, my love. Haven't brought that many with me...“

The meaning of flirtatious whispers only arrived at Doray a few moments later. She was startled by the hot breaths and immediately retreated with burning ears. It's not that she was afraid of getting caught eavesdropping, but this was getting too private for her taste.

In darkness, she carefully navigated in the narrow backrooms and climbed a few steep stairs down until she arrived at her closet. This was her realm. Nobody ever caught her eavesdropping, but she was more than once punished for „slacking“ and „hiding somewhere“.

But her secret was safe. She was the only one with the key to the hidden labyrinth inside the house.

Doray turned on the lamp and planted herself on the bed. Shaking of her boots, she leaned to grope under the mattress and finally found the hand mirror. Examining herself, Doray moved her head to the right and to left.

Well, if she looks to the right, she looks ugly. There is a small mole above her eyebrow and a faint scar makes her cheek look weird. If Doray looks to the left though, she is kinda pretty with long eyelashes and dark hair. No less pretty than the new mistress, at least.

Doray sighed and put the mirror under the mattress again. Everything looks better in the dark. She was a servant, thirteen and no good looks will ever help her getting out here. But it would be pleasant to know that she is beautiful. Must be nice waking up each morning, when you don't feel like a gross mess.

She took of her uniform and put on the nightgown. Someone coughed behind the thin wall and Doray froze, expecting reprisal. But no, just silence. Janice did not wake up.

Doray extinguished the lamp and slipped under the blanket. If Lady Thornvale indeed intends to clear out the attic tomorrow, there's gonna be a lot of work to do. On the other hand, looking through old things is always fun and she might be able to keep a thing or two for herself. Especially, when Janice isn't watching.

The dark comforted her. Doray imagined dissolving into black nothingness.

  
—————

 

When Doray reached the top of stairs, she stopped breathing.

At the far end of the attic, the oval window sang with colour. The white sheets on furniture glowed and reflected mellow light, while the dust, twirling in the air, was dancing with unknown brilliance. A golden song full of promise.

Janice stared at her with disdain and the trance was broken. Doray gave the older maid a curt smile, not quite cheeky, but too out of place to be considered polite. Then she hurried towards the masters, whose attention was focused on the men moving furniture.

"I expected this to be an easier task. One would think, that two metre tall paintings would stand out even in such a chaos.“

"It cannot be helped. I assume, he took the paintings as the first thing of the walls and placed them at the very end of the attic. We will have to move out the entire furniture out of the way first.

"That might take a whole week! You, with the cap!“

"Morris is the name, lady Thornvale.“

" _Mrs._ Thornvale. Pass on to the others, that instead of moving the entire furniture block, they should try clearing a path so one can traverse the attic. Also remind them, that preserving the paintings is the highest priority. If something is stuck, check first _why_ it cannot move. I'd rather burn this entire house than ruin one of the paintings.“

"Uh, understood, Mrs. Thornvale. Will pass it on.“

"Good. Return to work.“

Janice politely coughed and performed a curtsy which Doray copied.

"Mrs. Thorvale, mister Thornvale. May we start dusting the furniture?“

"Yes, yes. You may.“ The lady glance shortly at the maids, but then clicked her tongue. „Although clean the windows first. More light would be helpful.“

"Yes, Mrs. Thornvale.“

Janice curtsied again and walked with more stride than usual towards the buckets of water. She hated cleaning windows and Doray couldn't blame her. Particularly the high narrow windows to the sides of the attic are gonna be a real bitch to reach.

While aware that she should join Janice, Doray lingered at the masters' side for a few moments, looking at the furniture landscape. This idea was at the back of her mind the entire time already, but she finally had the courage to voice it.

"Mrs. Thornvale, I might be able to find the paintings myself.“

The lady turned towards her and raised her eyebrow.

"Uhm, but it will depend on how much you care for the sheets on the furniture to stay white.“

"I really don't.“ The lady raised the edges of her mouth.

"Then I will climb over the furniture — carefully — and find what you seek.“

"Doray,“ called out Janice, „I do not think that that is a good idea, especially with your foot.“

Doray stared at her with poison, but addressed the mistress directly.

"I am still quite limber. Better than any other servants, anyway.“

Lady Thornvale shrugged with grace.

"If you can climb over, then do. But if you ruin or even scratch one of the paintings, I will mount your pretty head above the fireplace.“

"Please, don't murder all of our help on the very first day,“ chimed in amiably her husband.

While Janice looked slightly horrified, Doray smiled to let them know she recognized the joke as one. The couple were really fond of macabre humour, yet Doray would honestly hate to see what could happen to her if she failed. The lady was clearly gonna be out for murder if anyone messes with her precious paintings.

Doray curtsied as goodbye and walked over to the furniture line. First obstacle was a short divan and therefore barely worth mentioning. Then she crawled over a table, crumpling the cloth in the process, and pressed herself through the small space between two large cabinets.

What came next was a monstrous tangle of different furniture, either stacked or leaning on each other. The whole mess was obscured by cloth. By the Outsider's hair, if she climbs on top it, this entire thing will fall apart. Doray gulped and tried pulling at the sheets to see what was underneath. The cloth refused to move.

Well, this requires more brains or acrobatic skill than she currently possesses. Doray might try to squeeze through sideways or... She dropped to her knees and quietly hissed „Yes!“.

There was an opening underneath. There is no way a grown person would get through, but a small girl like her had a good chance of fitting into the small space.

Doray started crawling, and later desperately wriggling between the wooden feet. As it often happened to her, she just now became aware that she'd get crushed if this thing decided to crumple down on her. Doray imagined being stuck here, crying out in pain, while the men would try to clear a path to her before she dies from injuries or hunger.

Doray shushed her unruly imagination and triumphantly wriggled free. Standing up, she shook the dust of her uniform and looked around. The big window was much closer and Doray could now see the complicated pattern on the coloured glass.

There was a lot of stuff around here. Night tables, chairs, a globe and quite a few mirrors which were a constant source of disappointment, since they all looked like paintings under the sheets. Stumbling and moving through this chaos, Doray stopped a few times to sneeze and roguishly wiped her nose on the cloth. No one had to know.

Doray heard muted conversation in the distance and the sound of wood scratching against the floor, but this reminder made her feel only more distanced from the rest of the household. This was such a surreal peaceful place, with furniture sleeping under white blankets. This moment will be her secret for a few more hours, then she would be forced to surrender it to others and see this fortress dismantled piece by piece. A shame.

This task though was very fun. She felt like a treasure hunter, checking under white cloth and constantly scanning the surrounding for the rectangle shaped objects. But it was only when something brushed against her shoulder, that she found the first painting.

It was standing between a wardrobe and a shelf, almost the same size as Doray was. Turned out to be a whole lot of trouble to get it out of this tight spot. The fact, that Doray had to be extra careful not to scratch or drop it, only prolonged this whole ordeal.

Eventually, she managed to take it out and to put it against the wardrobe. Doray undressed the painting. The cloth fell silently.

As colour touched the eye, Doray just stood there, deaf, mute and stupid.

 

_The blue was a light hue, like frozen winter sky. Floating rock was rooted in the blue light, but the motion was set upwards into the dark. The enormous tree struck the balance between both sides. Green strong branches were woven into the darkness that swallowed the upper half of the painting._

_Every single object flowed and caressed each other. The green leaves looked like hair twisting underwater, the darkness like broken glass and the rock islands were carelessly hinted with hard lines._

 

Tears welled up in the corner of her eyes and Doray wiped them away. The beauty filled her mind and heart to impossible measure.

„Missis,“ called out Doray, „I have... I've found something! I am not sure, whether it's what you looked for... but it's special! It's really special!“

Doray went silent, embarrassed at the strong emotion in her voice. The response came soon.

„Very good! Keep looking for others.“ Lady Thornvale added a few moments later. „Do you think you can move the painting in our direction?“

„Possibly, but not all the way through. You should clear out the far left, that's uhm, that should be on your right! There is less furniture on that side!“

„All right. Thank you, Doray.“

Doray's heart slightly leaped when she heard her name in the mistress's mouth. Smiling, she turned to the painting and tried to look at it from different viewpoints. Whatever the angle, it looked outstanding and different than anything she has ever encountered. Doray has seen countless portraits of Forningwood's ancestors and some landscapes. All of them were drab and emotionless. Sure, they had „gravity“ and „dignity“, whatever the visiting nobles meant by that, but each lacked soul.

But this one was alive and brimming with colour and elegance. Doray was suddenly convinced, that a woman had painted it. Who else could have?

Doray sighed and with regret returned to her job. She did not wish to lose lady Thornvale's hard-earned approval by slacking. Still, while searching, Doray kept glancing at the beautiful painting that she herself discovered.

 

By early evening, Doray had found another dozen of paintings and was hungry and bored out her mind. When the men finally broke through to her, she enthusiastically greeted them. Joseph and Bern were both too tired to properly respond. (Though Bern took the opportunity to smudge Doray's nose with dirt and smiled with tired satisfaction when she complained.)

Lady Thornvale came next.

Doray was full of anticipation and excitement, even a bit nervous. Not that she expected the lady to be disappointed with her, as Doray clearly had done her best. But what would she think of the painting? Lady Thornvale would clearly see its value, wouldn't she?

The lady saw the painting immediately and slowly walked towards it. She was silent for some time, examining the gorgeous piece of art. Then Thornvale turned away without a word and focused her attention on the rest of the paintings, which she commented on and immediately started sorting out.

Doray felt betrayed. Was the lady blind? Couldn't see she that this was the most marvelous thing in this house, if not in the bloody world?

And yet, a part of Doray was happy. This painting was hers forever. No one could ever appreciate the painting as fully as she did. A seer among the blind.

 

—————————

 

Doray usually had trouble sleeping. The air in her room was often stale, the blanket scratchy and her mind too defiant to bow down to sleep. But today she fell asleep immediately; tired, stuffed with food and skin covered in dust.

Waves gently crashing into each other, lapping at the shallow boat where Doray lay. The moon was silver-green and stars shone with radiant light. Swaying back-and-forth, the ocean rocked her again to sleep.

She started floating in light-blue nothingness. Doray spun around her axis to watch the Void unfold itself around her and laughed in delight. Suddenly she was just a girl, spinning on a spot and ankle-deep in swamp water. Returning home did not kill the magic. The swamp was transfixing tonight, with flowers that glowed like candles, delicate curtains made of vines and wise strong trees growing from warm swamp water.

Doray felt that she was greeted like an old friend. The air was sweet and a light ahead beckoned her.

She walked towards it, water splashing around her feet and feeling at absolute peace.

Behind the trees a marble staircase began. This one was much more delicate than the one at Forningwood mansion and it felt smooth and cold under her bare feet. The fact that in hung in air did not bother her.

The ascent was slow. The higher Doray climbed, the weirder things she saw. A broken tower hanging upside down and splintering at its base like wood. A long sword bended into a knot floated beside the railing. Red apples flew over her head like drops of blood.

Her heart was beating with anticipation. There was something up there. Something just for her. And so her feet unerringly carried her upwards, even her broken twisted one. Unexpected and unwarned, Doray reached the summit and from there, the picture revealed itself.

A tree so big, its branches pierced and gripped the Void sky. A tree so light, its roots held rock island up in the air. It's green so vivid against the black trunk. It looked even more beautiful in person and Doray was not surprised at all.

She jumped onto the rock island floating next to her and with little effort held her balance as the rock island began to move. Doray soaked in the sight of the majestic tree, not even bothering to guess why she was brought here. In time, all will reveal itself.

The transfer island brought her close to the main one and Doray parted from it without hesitation. Now she walked on soft grass, her head tilted upwards to the swaying branches.

„Good evening, small one. Do you recognize me?“

„Of course I do. I would be mad not to.“

The tree laughed with a female voice. Doray was drawn to the sound of it more than she could tell.

„What do you think of what you see?“

„You are wise and powerful. And very beautiful.“

She chuckled again.

„You charming child. Not surprised at all?“

„I am in awe, really. But not surprised.“

„I see,“ said the tree with amusement. „What is your name, sweet child?“

„Doray.“

„Doray, it is nice to meet you. My name ancient, but similar to yours —  _Delilah_.“

Her voice was full of things Doray could not explain. Delilah drew her consonants and rolled each word until it became a polished perfect thing, with hidden power and explicit beauty.

„That is a very human name... for a spirit of the Void.“

Delilah's branches shook with laughter.

„Oh, my nature is not so simple. Would you claim to know exactly who I am?“

„I wouldn't dare to. Would you claim to know me for who I am?“

„Is that a request or a challenge?“

„I will decide after you answer.“

„This child is full of thorns,“ said Delilah warmly. „I do not know who you are, but I have seen much of your life. You stole a trinket from a visitor when you were six and never stopped stealing ever since. You invented ways to escape the mansion, but each was foiled by your one weakness. You love beauty as much as I did and we both are never satisfied with the meager slice that life gives us. We have much in common.“

Doray was silent.

„What did you decide?“ asked Delilah.

„What?“

„You told me you would decide whether this was a request or challenge after I gave my answer. Which is it now?“

Doray gulped and thought for a second.

„I think you just gave me a favour. I will have to repay it one day.“

„Oh sweet child! Do not accept debts so eagerly, because you will have enough of them in due time. Accept it as a gift from a friend, for now.“

„I will. Thank you.“

„No need to thank me, Doray. I am grateful for your visit. This won’t be your last one?“

„Not if I can help it.“

„Then I will take that as a promise. Sleep well, my child, and find some rest. I will wait until you return again.“

 


	2. Chapter 2

Doray wiped with the window frame with a rag and watched the disturbed dust rise into air, then slowly settle down back on the wooden frame. This was a perfect demonstration of what is wrong with cleaning; nothing ever stays clean.

A week ago, this sort of thing would make Doray throw the cloth away in rage and kick at the furniture a few times before calming down. By now Doray has changed. The girl had stared into face of dust, dirt and chaos and persevered. Endless cleaning did not break her. She was spitting on dust by now (not literally, of course).

Something hard flicked against her head and Doray uttered "Ow!".

"How long have you been standing here with that rag in your hand?" said Janice with a raised eyebrow, changing her grip on the heavy pot filled with earth. "Pondering on injustice of life? Examining dust flakes?"

"I haven't been... did you just touch my hair with hands covered in mud?!"

"Yes, lazybum. Don't worry, with black hair like yours nobody will even notice."

Doray tried to think of a snappy insult about Janice's blond hair, but in the end just mumbled:

"You're gross."

"Thanks, witty tongue. Drop that rag and come with me. It seems you really are useless without supervision."

Staring coldly at Janice's back, Doray held the rag with the two fingers and dropped it from high above into the bucket. It made a splosh and water spilled over on the floor. This is exactly what according to Janice good maids should never do. Then Doray hurried after the woman, who disappeared behind the corner.

Last week has shown, that Janice was once again insufferably right. When Doray had been giddy with excitement about the arrival of the new masters, Janice had just warned that this would mean a lot more work. "City nobles," had sighed Janice, as the date of their visit approached, and as she kicked into a cleaning frenzy.

Janice was right about the work part. Master Forningwood was a grumpy old man, but he never really cared about how clean the house was. As for lady Thornvale... she had a completely different definition of "clean" than Doray did and that meant redoing a job several times until she was satisfied.

Were it anybody else, Doray would have taken it personal and dedicated her being to loathing the tormentor. But Lady Thornvale was holding up everyone to the same high standards: the servants, her husband and even herself. She was utterly perfect in everything she did. Doray admired her as much as she envied her.

Janice had led Doray into a empty room, that Doray never had visited before. Forningwood had it closed off, probably. Both windows were wide open and let the sun in. The smell of wet earth mingled with sweet scent of flowers and several rows of flower pots were arranged on wrinkled newspapers. With relief, Janice put her own pot down and walked over to the corner to open a big basket. Bright flowers peeked from there.

"Pay close attention. This isn't particularly hard, but if you do it wrong, the plants won't survive the next week."

"Where did you get them?" asked Doray curiously.

"Old Gramps. Pretty sure that he used to illegally forage in these swamps when he was young... and maybe still does. Either way, lady Thornvale was lenient about it, just asked him to show me the good spots for flower hunting." Janice suddenly grinned. "He was smitten on the spot with the beautiful lady and the compliments just didn't stop coming from his chatty mouth. If he weren't older than the swamp, the husband would have certainly throttled him."

"I have the feeling the lady does the dirty work and the killing herself," said Doray, wisely nodding.

Janice laughed and threw a handful of dirt at the girl. Doray successfully dodged.

"Don't you talk like that about your masters, young miss!" said Janice sternly, but her eyes were smiling.

Doray looked at her feet in a mocking impression of deep embarrassment. She might complain about Janice sometimes, but the maid was a decent person to live with.

"Look at me, girl." Janice was already went down on her haunches before a pot, a yellow lily in her hands. "First you make a hole in the ground that is this deep. About your finger length. Then you gently place the flower inside and spread the earth to cover the roots. The green stem has to stay above the air or it might rot."

Janice demonstrated and then nodded in Doray's direction.

"Show me that you got it."

Doray fetched a white lilly and marvelled at the purity of the petals. How beautiful and how wonderful, that the lady decided to populate this house with flowers! Then she did exactly as Janice has, feeling childlike joy about being able to bury her hands in rich dirt.

"Alright," said Janice. "Do the same with the others. I'll fetch more pots in the meantime."

Furrowing brow and looking around, Doray asked:

"Even more?"

"It's a big house, little mouse. Lots of flowers needed." Janice shook the dirt of her hands and added, "Oh, before I forget. The big blue ones in the corner go into the large pots. The hole should be twice as big as usual at least."

"Alright," mumbled Doray. Man, this was a lot of work for one person. Only a few hours till the sun goes down left, as well.

Janice apparently could read her mind:

"And for bloody sake - hurry! We have to plant them today, otherwise they'll start wilting and drying up in the air."

Doray stared at the empty door frame where the maid just had been. The woman couldn't be serious! How could anyone ever finish in time?

The prospect of inevitable failure and reprisal dampened Doray's mood and she regarded the empty flower pots with resentment. Then Doray sighed and walked to the window. Wind danced wildly in branches of the forest, sent ripples through the stale water in the fountain and finally a warm breeze touched Doray's face.

It wasn't a bad. It wasn't all bad today and Janice was once more right: Doray needed to spent less time brooding. One could at least try to cherish the sunny weather... despite the unfair task.

It turned out, the white and blue lilies were a bit frail. Carrying one in each hand, Doray accidentally snapped the stem of the blue one and now it was hanging from a weird angle. Uhm. Doray considered throwing it out the window, but it would be easily discovered on the front stairs. Luckily, if one buries the flower deep enough, it still manages to stand upright. No harm done. Besides, it was rather crowded in that basket! It could have gotten broken in there just as easily.

Doray tried to be more careful with the other ones.

It took nine pots to finish the first batch. Janice dropped by in the meantime with more earth filled containers and gave short snappy lectures just for the sake of it. There were only three more flower baskets and the big bushy ones standing in the corner left.

Next flowers were red and kinda sticky. They looked different from others, a flower with smooth texture like the skin of a frog and a vibrant red. Yellow stripes framed the edge of the flower. Doray could not really say that she liked them, but they certainly caught the eye.

Holding one upwards, she was surprised how long its roots were. They hung to the side like dark tendrils. It was hard to fit them into a normal-sized hole and Doray had to take the flower out several times to scrape away the earth. Same repeated with the second flower.

Attention drifting, Doray started reading headlines from the newspapers on the floor.

"15th yearly celebration of the reclamation of the former Flooded District!"

Nice name for a district. Easy to imagine how fish used to swim in submerged apartments, nibbling at the wallpaper.

"Relations with Serkanos strained"

Not as if the Empire needs them anyway, those southern folks.

"Tragedy: Lady Rendt poisons husband"

Wow, that's interesting! Doray stopped working for a second to read the article in full.

"Lord Rendt was found on the 21th day of Rain. Due to a celebration the evening before, the servants did not enter the bedroom until late afternoon when the Lord Rendt was beyond saving."

"As the purple hue around the iris and the bloodied nose suggest, the victim was poisoned with a rare Pandyssian extract.”

Could they be any more vague? Details, gentlemen, details! Was the Pandyssian poison extracted from those amazing fish with long needles? From gigantic snakes, violet mushroom or carnivorous plants? How exactly did Lady Rendt kill him?

"Lady Rendt left the house at night of murder, having taken several highly valuable heirlooms and large quantities of money. The murder was preceded by a long and strained relationship, as well as various public arguments (Pinsborough incident)."

"Dunwall authorities request the citizenship to report any unusual activities."

Doray let out a long and dreamy sigh. What adventures! Doray imagined herself in a flowing dress, concocting a poison from dangerous plants, with a sweet smile offering a drink to the idiot of a husband. Escaping the mansion with a racing pulse and travelling around the world!

With an absent-minded smile, Doray's gaze wandered to the red flower. She looked a bit closer, smile vanishing from the lips.

Doray suddenly remembered where she'd seen this flower before.

  
—————

 

"Where do you think you're going?!" halled the angry yell through the corridor.

Doray twitched. Seeing Janice approaching fast, she stepped back automatically.

"Doray, come back here at once!"

"Look, Janice, there's..."

Doray shrieked when Janice almost grabbed her shoulder. The instinct to flee kicked in all on its own.

"For bloody sake..!"

"This is stupid," flashed the thought inside her mind. "I should just stop and explain." But Janice was really angry, had a long hard day and won't bloody listen! Also, the woman sometimes pulled at Doray's ears with unjustified force and fear of punishment kept Doray running.

What a scene. Two maids chasing each other through the house, jumping over rolled up carpets, blasting through the empty kitchen and slipping on wet floor, then dashing up the stairs where something made an end to the spectacle. For Doray, it was the sight of Lady Thornvale which made her stop in her tracks, whereas for Janice it was the last treacherous step, which sent her crashing to the floor.

Panting and gulping air, Doray nervously put unruly streaks of hair behind her ear and fumbled for the right words. Lady Thornvale stared at them with raised eyebrows, still holding an open book in hand.

"Would you two care to explain what this is all about?"

"She..." Janice, still lying on the floor and breathing heavily, turned on her back, "this girl..."

"Missis, I had something to tell you," swiftly interrupted Doray. "I left the planting room and Janice saw me and assumed I was slacking and I ran. I'm sorry. It was stupid."

"Yes, it was," agreed Janice grimly, standing up from the floor and grabbing Doray by the shoulder. "Return to work before you embarrass us even more."

"No!" exclaimed Doray. "I still need to tell you, missis! The flowers, they're dangerous! I've seen the red sticky ones in a book..."

"What are you going on about, girl?" snapped Janice.

"Look, I've seen them! They're poisonous and I've read about them in that big red book.It was, uhm, it was a herbarium! I'm pretty sure it was them and we can't put them in the house!"

Lady Thornvale closed the book and with a hand motion silenced Janice's would-be denials, all the while looking directly into Doray's eyes.

"Poisonous, you say. Are you sure?"

"Yes," mumbled Doray.

"When have you read it?"

"A few years ago."

More than a few years ago. It was Doray's favourite childhood book. She even tore out several pages to keep for herself and now she felt like a thief and a fraud.

"'A few years' is a long time to remember a flower."

"Yes, but even if it might be poisonous, shouldn't one check?"

Doray saw how Janice rolled her eyes.

"Alright, let's say it's the most poisonous flower in the whole world," said Janice dryly. "But the evil flower can't wield knives and therefore hurt anybody, unless somebody starts chewing on petals."

"Well, some plants can poison the air over time, but this one has this weird stuff covering the petals and stem..." Doray swiftly turned to Janice. "You haven't licked your fingers?"

"Why on earth would I lick my fingers?"

"Or eaten something! The sticky stuff is poisonous!"

"You aren't even sure yourself, Doray. I can see that on your face. Either way, I will not have wasted my day digging out them out to see the buggers get thrown away!"

"Hardly your decision, Janice," remarked Lady Thornvale. "I would prefer to keep poisonous plants out of my house. I will be hosting parties next season. I do not wish to have to guess, whether the unconscious body on the floor is a drunk or a dead aristocrat."

"Of course," said Janice with a hint of incredulity. She seemed shocked to hear anybody talk about nobles in such a way.

Doray almost nervously laughed, but tried to get a hold of herself. Modest, quiet, polite - let's try being the model maid for once.

"I would like you to find you the herbarium and check the flowers one by one," continued the lady.

Janice's eye twitched:

"Mylady, that won't be easy... the shelves in the living room had been cleared out and we stacked the books in a spare room which was flooded during that storm days ago. If it's not ruined, it still be hard to find. In that time, the flowers will dry up die unless we plant them right now in the pots."

"Then do so. But keep them away from living quarters unless you checked. Understood?"

"Yes, missis", said Doray and Janice at the same time.

"Good," said lady Thornvale, having already averted the eyes and opened the book again. "Oh, also tell the cook that we will be dining an hour later this evening."

"Yes, missis."

The maids left together, Doray being firmly but discretely led by Janice. Even as they came out earshot, Janice stayed quiet which surprised the girl. She expected a fiery outburst.

"You aren't impressing anyone, you know," said Janice in a level tone.

Doray glanced at her.

"What are you talking about?"

"Coffee in the morning. Jewelry "found" behind the furniture. Punctual as you never were in your life. You realize, she's not impressed either way?"

"Are you _jealous_ of me?"

"Told you, there is nothing to be jealous about. You wriggle on the floor, trying to think off extra favours to do while the missis steps over you. You can stop, Doray."

With burning ears, Doray hissed:

"This what you are angry about? Being possibly outranked by a hotshot? Losing your bloody kingdom?"

"No kingdom to speak of, just an ancient flea-ridden house. As for your missis? She's just a noble, Doray. You're not her kid, you're not even a child - you are just a maid to her."

Doray bared her teeth and before she could muster an insult, Janice looked back at her and shook tiredly her head.

"All I'm telling you, you can stop trying. If you want to talk fancy in front of her or show off your knowledge, then do, but don't waste too much hopes or energy. A maid's job is thankless, Doray. Remember that."

Snorting, Doray demonstratively looked away. What does the cow even know of Doray's life? Nothing.

The rest of the day they worked in silence. When the sun has set and stars appeared, Janice skipped dinner and went to bed. She was pale, sweating and had hot skin. The masters discussed sending for a doctor, but Joseph was gone with the carriage and the village didn't have a real doctor anyway. They just had to hope the poison was mild.

Doray brought tea which Janice didn't touch and tried at night scouring the book dump for the herbarium. She fell asleep after midnight, leaning on a cold wall and covered in dusty tomes.

When the morning came, Janice rose from the bed tired and cranky, but at well health.

The flower's name turned out to be Anthurium crystallia.

  
—————

 

There used to be a platform here with two stairs leading up to it. One could have once walked beneath the tree, that stood on its roots like on tip-toes, and come out at a small balcony. The tree would lie at your back and the Void sing in front of you.

Decrepit changed this place. Stone crumbled, earth slid down and the tree sunk lower. It now leaned to the ground forming a small hollow. Doray nestled there, caressing the rough wood and feeling the history of the place encrypted in the ancient roots.

"What are you thinking about, Doray?"

"The smell. It reminds me of something and I am trying to figure out what exactly"

"Have you decided yet?"

"Not really. There is a hint of flowers, but not the sweet ones. Also it smells kind of... blue in here? Like metal or maybe electricity. Does electricity even have a smell?" Doray scratched her cheek. "I am talking humbug, aren't I?"

Delilah laughed.

"You live in a much different place and time than I have. You would have been familiar with the not only the smell, but also the sound of unleashed electricity."

Doray opened her mouth and closed it. She eventually asked:

"Did you... did you live in Dunwall?"

"I did, Doray. I knew well that carnivorous city... but it was like from a lifetime ago."

The sadness in her voice made Doray regret breaching that topic. The girl shifted her weight and put a brand of hair behind her ear.

"Does electricity smell like the Void? What do you think?"

"Maybe," answered Delilah thoughtfully. "I am not sure. For me the Void smelled of flowers long dead and yet-to be. Cradle of death and life, defying all rules and creating new ones. This not a place for living things, yet in mysterious ways all stories the living make find refuge in embrace of the Void."

"The Void changes to fit my gaze," murmured Doray. "Everything I see here, I have either imagined or experienced myself. Was it the same for you?"

"It was," breathed Delilah.

Doray felt the shared hunger between them, the hunger for mysteries and secrets. Two souls so grand, they could fill the Void whole. The connection between them made Doray shiver with elation.

The dream ended abruptly. Doray sat up, breathing fast and looking around the dark cramped room. It was suffocating in here.

  
—————

 

The glass was stained with green and the wood frames dark with moisture. Many of the glass frames were broken from hail or falling branches, a mosaic of fractured sunlight. It was a mixed blessing, since the holes allowed fresh gusts of wind into the greenhouse. It was hot and damp in there and fantasies of Pandyssia helped to endure the temperature only in the first days. A chill breeze was more than welcome.

That was the good part. The bad part about the broken glass roof was that the greenhouse got flooded after each rainfall. Seeing the mess inside, Doray was forced to discard her shoes at the entrance, and enter barefoot. She hated exposing her crippled foot, but ruining her only footwork was unacceptable.

Ankles deep in mud, each step made a satisfying plopping sound and the inner child was delighted to play in dirt. That's what Doray's main occupation these days was. She grew the small shoots here in the greenhouse, until they were robust and big enough to be planted in the courtyard. If she found a particularly beautiful and big flower, she would find a fitting vase and allow it into the house.

Tom grumbled that a proper gardener should be a man and that the lady would be better off hiring someone more suited to the task. Doray bit her tongue that day, saying nothing. She was still choosing between stuffing dead mouses in his pillow or dumping a vat of dog or cat piss under the bed.

Of course, Doray knew that Tom was right and that the lady will hire a real gardener eventually. But at the moment the Thornvales had enough worries with the withering house as it was and did not have time to venture outside. As long the garden was not a complete mess, Doray would keep this job.

Humming a wordless tune, the girl snipped with scissors and separated the two plants by the roots. She added them to the pile of plants and started taking out the pots. Most were half-broken and others were repurposed old cooking pots or leaking buckets. Doray had learned very quickly to improvise with sparse resources as hers.

She filled the containers with a mix of manure and black earth, and put the flowers inside. Each used to be a single plant, but she split them into two or three parts. Not every shoot will survive, she knew that much, but in the end Doray will have gained more plants than she has started with. Breeding them turned out to be so easy.

Hands deep in fertile earth and drowning in sweat, Doray pondered on the fragility and tenacity of life. Each plant so easily crushed and yet so resilient at the same time. Death is a mystery, life is a mystery. Was the Void the key to both questions?

Doray examined the rows of green pots and smiled. Her work is almost over for today. She swept broken twigs, dirt and leaves off the table and dumped them with into the compost heap. Then she picked up the watering can and skipped outside. A small stone was caught in the can and made clanging noises while she ran.

Just outside the glasshouse, there was a small faucet, which she frequently visited. It was rusted and hard to twist, but once it was open, the water came bursting and the can was full in no time. Holding the heavy metal container with both hands, Doray staggered back inside.

This work in the garden was more exhausting than she would have expected, but Doray wouldn't want to trade it for anything in her life. No one breathed down her neck or berated her for messing up anymore. Somehow she ended up working more than she has ever before. Pride and passion were much more effective masters than fear and duty could ever be.

Leaving the greenhouse for today, Doray closed the door with a piece of string. One had to prevent animals from entering, since the buggers already dug through her garden before and she shuddered to think what they'd do to the young shoots.

Doray did not go back to the mansion immediately. Cleaning her dirty feet at the faucet and drying with a dusty rag, she put on her shoes. Then she turned right from the glasshouse and followed the small trail until it joined the gravel road. There she slowed down and took in the sight of her garden.

At the sides of the road, purple king's flower grew in clusters, surrounded by light blue meadow bells. Tall and delicate Allicannians peaked above them, large white flowers that Doray planted far away from each other to. In the island in the middle of the yard, Doray used the bright Derians, also known as redfires, as accents among the deep blue Azynthias. The shadow of the weeping willow was perfect for Gentians, that looked as if they were glowing in the dark.

The sight filled her with quiet pride and a strange love. There was something very vulnerable about this place. Doray felt like she exposed her heart through this work. All of this was born from her hands and mind. Its beauty was open for the sight of others... and their judgement as well. It was exhilarating and exciting at the same time. People liked what she did, for once in her life.

The only thing that nagged at her, the only thing Doray regretted was that she could not show this place to Delilah. She would have loved it.

  
—————

 

The Void twisted white fog into spirals like a women, who playfully curls her hair. Doray blinked and sat up. This spot was not familiar to her. The marble plate under her was crumbling and ended in something like river mud. Delilah was nowhere to be seen and Doray stood up, furrowing her brow.

She climbed debris and tried to search for familiar landmarks, however stupid it sounded when talking about the always changing Void. A family of frogs sat on rich embroidered chairs and stared at Doray with daft indifference. A cloud of flowers flew far above her head and Doray stopped to watch the colourful spectacle. Then suddenly, they all disintegrated and ash rained down upon her. She shook off the dirt with inexplicable disgust.

Travelling from island to island and shouting Delilah's name, the vastness of the space felt threatening. Things appeared and disappeared in the sky, disturbing messages she did not understand. It was lonely here. Her shouting was swallowed by silence and the droning hum of the Void. Frustration and anxiety almost send tears to Doray's eyes.

She used to think of the Void her friend, but without a guide at her side it felt much different. It responded to her thoughts, yes... but so does the sea respond to a fish splashing on the surface. Would the sea or the sky care for a young girl? The Void was more ancient than both taken together and no less uncaring.

Doray wanted to leave. Usually the visits were over too soon and she always longed to stay, but not tonight. But there was no door to exit this place and pinching her arm and closing eyes did not help either. She was stuck here like a stupid bird in a stupid cage. Doray hated cages.

But the only way out seemed to be the scariest one. To jump.

What happens if you jump? What if one keeps falling forever and until your heart stops beating? Maybe one doesn't ever wake up. Things in here felt so very real and this place was made of witchery after all. It was stupid to do something so reckless.

Even as she decided that, her skin kept itching. Doray hated it in here. She hated the fear, the diffused light, the upside down world. She hated seeing something on the edge of her sight and finding out there is nothing.

The girl has a temper, that's what used Granny to say darkly. Doray imagined a temper to be a like fire, but there was never a fire when she got angry. She felt instead like her mouth was full of razors and thorns burst from her skin. That's why Doray did and said such mean things, since it was impossible to swallow the sharp things back.

Doray wasn't gonna take this. She looked first into the Void below and then walked a few steps back. Gulping, she fixed her gaze on the edge. Just don't think. Thinking gets in the way. She dashed forward, so even if she tried she wouldn't be able to stop in time. At the very end, her crippled foot gave away under her and she slipped, falling upside down into the Void. Doray wasn't able to suppress a scream.

Doray jerked with her whole body, waking up. Pulse racing, she sat up and put arms around herself. She was alright. Everything was alright.

Her foot was aching. Throwing the blanket to the side, Doray checked it for injuries - maybe the Void left it's mark. But no, it wasn't injured. It simply hurt, because that's just what it did sometimes. The girl tried rubbing it until the skin was hot, massaging the hard muscles. It got better, but once her fingers came to halt the pulsing dull pain came back with same intensity.

Sighing, she stared at the stupid foot and wriggled with her toes. The big two responded, but the shrivelled small ones barely moved. No wonder. The right part of her foot was folded underneath the sole. Doray remembered when this wasn't the case, when she was very small and used to run barefoot. But Granny told her, that either Doray wears shoes or the master will chase her out into the swamps. Her foot was sprawled almost like a hand and forcing it into a shoe was a nightmare and hurt like hell. Granny had to bind cloth around the deformed foot to make it smaller. Eventually it fit inside the torture device called shoes.

Doray used to cry at nights and take off the bandages. That was the time when she hated her foot the most. She even considered to live in the swamps just not to wear the bloody shoes. It was a stupid idea, even for a five year old.

But today the shoes hid the deformity and allowed to pass as normal. Once she grew up, Doray was thankful for what Granny did. It had hurt, yes, but there is no way Lady Thornvale would have employed a cripple that walks barefoot. Doray would have been forced to beg for food in that tiny village or try to survive in the swamps.

Doray was lucky, but what does luck mean without happiness? There a whole world outside! There was a hunger inside her that by far outgrew her small body. One day she will escape. This can't be the end of her tale.

Drumming with fingers on the bed, Doray contemplated just cutting the foot off. That would rid her off all the problems.

She sighed and pressed her forehead against the knees. Then she stood up and started going back and forth with a pained expression. Sometimes warming up the muscles helped, but Doray eventually grew tired of the small closet of hers. She listened attentively for Janice calm breath and enter her secret tunnel, by pressing on the upper right corner of the panel and then carefully sliding it to the side.

Obviously, it was very dark in here. Doray let her memory guide her. Three steps forward, climb down left, five steps forward, three to the right. Here was the kitchen. Doray peeked between tiles just above the stove. The moon illuminated the cookware and the fruit, when suddenly a shadow moved. A mouse! It scurried between the bowls, then decided stand up on it's hind quarters and to sniff. Probably trying to figure out, where the yummiest food was.

Doray chose to move on. She's killed many rodents on her life, but she always feared that a rat might jump at her in the secret passageways and bite her. It never happened, but the possibility kept haunting her mind. Doray thought hearing small feet scratching on wood, while she traversed the house.

Finally she reached the living room. The two painting on each side of the fireplace, a glass closet and a new tea table. This is the room where old Forningwood died. Sure, Janice and Doray had told everybody else a different story, about him peacefully passing away in sleep, tucked away in his bed, but the truth looked a bit different. Doray found him early in the morning lying facedown on the carpet and pants pulled down to his knees. It stank like alcohol in there. She fetched Janice, because she didn't know what to do and then Janice eventually cursed like a sailor and proclaimed him dead.

They pulled up the pants, dragged the body to the bedroom and put him into bed. Janice never gave an explanation why she did that. Trying to hide the the fact of his shameful death? Didn't want to explain an awkward situation? Feared that his shame would shine bad light on her and other servants? Maybe a mix of everything.

Doray decided to visit the upper floor next. The way up there was steeper and the passage much narrower, but the girl wanted to check on Thornvales before going back to sleep. Having pushed her herself up on both arms and climbed on the next ledge, Doray was breathing fast. The girl shook the dust from her nightgown and sneaked ahead. The tunnel winded itself like a snake and the sharp turns had a disorienting effect. Doray stopped for a few second to clear her head, then flinched in surprise. She heard voices.

Looking through the closest hole, Doray saw the murmuring figures inside the play lounge. It were nobody else but the Thornvales.

Both were sitting on the couch, intimately close to each other. The lady had thrown her legs over his and rested the head on the husband's shoulder. Mister Thornvale embraced her with the right arm and caressed her leg with the other. His shirt was unbuttoned to a third and the lady's hair was a mess, but still, it did not look like they have been doing indecent things. They looked utterly relaxed, whispering to each other like children sharing secrets.

"Don't even change," said Lady Thornvale with unusual softness. "If you change, I will kill you."

There were two glasses on the table and rectangle shapes which Doray a few moments later recognized as cards. They had stayed up late into the night to drink and play against each other.

"You know what I thought of you, the first time I met you?" asked Lady Thornvale, looking up at his face.

"Something unflattering, no doubt."

"I was bored with you. There were plenty of other mediocrities, hopeless youngsters and stone-old geezers at that party and you managed to look like the most boring one of them all."

"One of my lesser known talents, just second after my excellent book-keeping skill."

Lady Thornvale leaned forward and bit his ear. The man audibly winced.

"Interrupt my story again and I will bite again," whispered the lady in good humour.

The man caressed her neck with a lenient smile. Lady Thornvale put the cheek back against his shoulder, smiling as well.

"Anyway, I thought I misheard something, when you made your first dry humour joke. Considering that nobody caught the punchline either, I eventually dismissed the heretic thought. But later a pattern seemed emerge. You really love making jokes that nobody but you understands."

Judging from how utterly self-satisfied Mister Thornvale just looked, the lady must be dead-right, concluded Doray.

"But that's a quirk like any other. All nobles have found one way or two to act odd, but that does not make them interesting just yet. But then one day, I caught you cheating!" Lady Thornvale tickled his chin with a finger, "You little cheater have set out to make Bromberry look like a fool! You could have pocketed the large sum and pricked his ego, but instead you put two Heart Kings in his hand and the doofus did not notice!"

Mister Thornvale shifted on the couch and looked with surprise at his wife.

"You'll ask: "How does she know that?". That is a secret I do not wish to divulge. As for the reason why I never mentioned... I believe, just like my dear mother did, that all skeletons should stay in the closet where they belong, instead of marching all about," the lady suddenly sighed, "But this specific skeleton has fallen to dust and left nothing more than a small fingerbone. It wouldn't even make a difference in our already rather stained reputation."

"In fact, it might only improve it," added mister Thornvale. "Bromberry had many other sins apart from his short attention span, and nothing bonds as strongly as gloating about others."

"What a sudden change of heart! This is not like you, my dear husband, trying to improve the situation. So far it's been you, that advocated lying down and letting the noble stock beat us into submission."

"It's not like you either to admit failure and surrender to gloom thoughts, my dear wife. Perhaps we should change clothes for the night, as we are not ourselves while drunk."

She laughed quietly and earnestly. She did that only when she was alone with him, thought Doray, and felt a pang of envy.

"This whole business made me bitter, Bertrand. I hoped to stay angry the entire time, but eventually it starts to wear you down and you grow bitter. Everyone knows that Dunwall's a hive of snakes and backstabbers, but I never figured they would turn on us. Especially not because of such ridiculous accusations!"

"Nothing is ridiculous enough, when it involves Overseers. You know that."

"Yes," sighed the lady. "My mother told enough stories of what it was like during the plague. Their grasp has grown weaker in the last years... but they are still strong enough to drag us into dirt."

The lady had a far away look on her face and her lips were a hard line.

"How eagerly they flocked to pick at us... and how sweetly my cousin shoved me under the steaming train. The Overseers only gave them an opportunity to brings us down. We should placed a petition directed at the Empress. We should have fought harder..."

"You had the privilege of being at home, when they marched in, you know," suddenly said mister Thornvale. "I was at the office, when they seized me. I heard that grating music for a long time before they came, but assumed it came from the streets. But then it grew louder and eventually those people burst through my door. Two enormous stinking dogs surrounded me from both sides, gnarling their teeth. One Overseer played his stupid music box, while the other held the pistol and ordered me to stand up."

"You keep talking of shame, but you know what it was like to walk past all my employees, being lead away like a heretical deviant or criminal? But let me tell, shame is the most preferable alternative out of all. In the first moment, I thought of demanding answers, of refusing to go or even drawing my pistol. But when the dogs surrounded me, I realized that I might die. Our Overseers are masters of spinning tales in their defense and corpses don't talk. Not even innocent ones."

"Therefore, my love," said mister Thornvale slowly and quietly, "I am not angry about the injustice we suffered, but relieved. If the maid had told them, that she learnt her magic tricks from you... or that she slept with not just the Overseer, but with me as well... it might have been not the ruin of our reputation, but of both us."

"At least her lies did not span that far," agreed softly the lady. "You are right, my love. I've never tasted failure like this and it was impossibly hard to swallow... but you are right. I am sorry for those harsh words I've said, especially in the beginning. I've put blame where there was none."

The husband kissed her hair and said nothing more. The shadows and soft moonlight made hard to see where one began and the other ended. Eventually the woman whispered something Doray did not catch. The husband put his hands around her and picked her up with little effort. The floor creaked as the man gently and carefully carried his loved out of the room. Probably, to the bedroom.

Doray breathed out sharply, heart full of longing she could barely explain. She listened intently, then slipped out from her hiding place and entered the lounge. Judging from the cards, they had played the Old Maid... or maybe the Spot Hearts. Perhaps, something else entirely. What do nobles in the city play, anyway?

Her fingertips traced the paper, dragged along the polished wood and came at halt at the glasses. The glass was cold and heavier than expected, and a third full. Doray sat down on the sofa, just like the lady did, and tried to feel what they felt. Did they leave a smell? Yes, she could definitely smell a perfume... and the boot shine the master used. Doray swirled the glass and watched the dark liquid move, then made a gulp.

It almost made her cough, but she suppressed it and took another sip. It burned her throat and the taste was awful, but she relished the experience.

Doray pulled closer her legs and put the chin on her knees. The glass rested in a limp hand, while the other caressed the furnishing where the masters have sat. The moon shone brightly outside, casting silver on the trees. The only companion that she had at nights.

Doray wished, it wasn't her only one.

  
—————

 

Doray blew the hair out of her face, as she pushed the bathroom door open and slowly stepped into the corridor. She was completely focused on not spilling any water from the heavy bucket, therefore the fact that a person was standing in front of her came as a surprise. She flinched and tightened grip around the metal handle.

It was Mister Thornvale, hands deep in his pockets and examining the painting on the wall. There was a frown on his face, which seemed to be born less of disapproval, than of confusion.

"So this is where she's put this painting," said mister Thornvale, "I was wondering already, why I haven't seen it anywhere around."

Doray stayed in place, fidgeting. She was unsure whether the man was talking to himself or not and whether her input was actually needed.

"Do you know," Mister Thornvale glanced back at the maid, "when it was put here?"

Doray nodded and put the bucket down.

"Yes, sir. She - the mistress - decided to hang it here on the next day after it was found."

The man smiled with incredulity on his face:

"Really? Out of all places... she put this across from the privy?"

Doray almost allowed let the words burst from mouth "Yes! Yes, she did! She put this gorgeous piece, Delilah's beautiful painting, on the furthest corner of the third floor on the wall across the bloody privy! Why would she do that? Why would anyone with two eyes in their head do something like this?!". Eventually she gulped, swallowing the crazy tirade and saying curtly:

"I do not know, sir."

The man glanced back at the painting, forehead furrowed in thought.

"Do you know any folklore, by chance? I mean, a fairy-tale or story about a tree like this?"

"No... I don't recall any, sir."

"Neither do I," mumbled the man. He examined the painting for a few more moments, then shrugged. "She must have had her reasons."

With those words mister Thornvale lazily strolled away, not bothering with goodbye. Doray picked up the bucket, too stunned by the short encounter to be offended. Actually, she wouldn't have been offended either way. That's just how masters usually were.

****  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I have not given up on"This Heart" just yet . Consider this a small break from the horror genre.


End file.
